Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Izzy
In the last few days, I’ve slipped through the cracks of reality. What started as a blizzard hitting the mountain that my car decided to break down on . . . has ended in a blur of unexpected passion.
Standing on his front porch, shifting my gaze between the view down the driveway and his tall frame leaning against the door, it feels like I’m coming up for air.
My mind has finally cleared along with the winding roads in this wilderness, but it’s no longer escaping back to my lonely life that I’m focused on.
It’s figuring out a scenario in which I could come back to this place. Come back to him.
I turn my head, slowly surveying the heavy snow-capped tree branches shimmering in the morning light. The landscape is vast but feels more personal and homey on Ledger’s little piece of land. He’s lucky to have it. I’d be so happy coming home to a place like this.
As much as I’d like to blame the beauty and comfort of this place for why I’d like to come back, I think it has more to do with the man who’s got one boot crossed over the other, and his shoulder braced against the doorjamb behind me.
I laugh through my nose and realize how slightly deranged that thought seems.
“Ready?”
No.
“Sure,” I reply with a closed-lip smile.
Ledger loads my things in the backseat of his truck. I slide into the passenger side, reflecting on the last time I found myself in this seat.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, picking up on the amusement in my expression. He puts the truck into drive, and we make our way to the main road headed east out of the mountains.
“I was just thinking about the first time I was climbing into your truck,” I laugh.
He smirks with one elbow resting casually on the center console. I turn toward him in my seat, tilting my head to lean the side of it on the headrest.
“I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.”
With a steady hand, he pushes the brim of his hat back an inch, then rubs his forehead. His lips part, then close again. My stomach hurts, and I begin an internal argument with myself—debating how much of my heart I want to bare to this man.
“Hand me your phone,” I say with an outstretched hand.
It’s hooked to a charger in his lap. After unplugging and unlocking it, he places it in my hand without question. With quick taps, I enter my contact information and then text myself so that I have his number as well.
I probably should have waited for him to ask for it, but my patience is thin as I count down the time I have left here.
“I thought maybe I could send you some of the pictures,” I explain. It’s only half of the truth. Of course, I’d like to edit whatever is on my memory card from this weekend and then show him. But selfishly, I hope if he has my number, he might reach out.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says in a low voice. I hand him his phone back, and he bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a grin. “I wouldn’t have let you go without getting your number, just so you know.”
I wiggle my hips to get more comfortable in my seat and then eye him curiously. “Were you just going to wait until the very last second?” I reply with a laugh.
His chest inflates with a defensive huff. “No. I was going to ask you some things first.”
“Oh,” I whisper. “Ask me now.”
The truck slows as we approach a curve. Ledger’s grip tightens on the steering wheel as I wait for him to reply. When he finally speaks up, I lift my chin toward him, anticipating his question.
“Do you come out this way for work a lot?”
“Not really.” I sigh. “I think Montana would be the closest until late summer. I’ll be there in April.”
He nods slowly, not taking his eyes off the road. White-tipped evergreen trees whiz by outside his window, and I watch them blur past his profile.
“What about you? Are you traveling this year at all?”
“Me and my buddy Jace have a trip planned once the weather warms up. Things are a little more laid-back around here in the summer since our cows graze south of here at Duck Creek. I’ll probably do a few other hikes on my own too, but I don’t plan very far ahead; I just go.”
I like to hike.
I like you.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to invite myself.
But if he wanted me to tag along, I’d rather he asked me himself.
My hands knead together in my lap as the self-doubt wheels start spinning in my mind.
Visions of him and I tangled together in the dark play in my head, and I start to wonder if I was imagining it all or if I really like him as much as I think I do.
We both just got out of relationships, I remind myself.
Long distance is a lot of hard work, I add to my string of thoughts.
A subtle hint of anger flares in my mind. I wish things were different—that we lived close or that our lives weren’t so polar opposite. And that I wasn’t so self-preserving, filling my own head with a list of reasons to walk away unscathed before I get my heart broken.
Trying to tamp down the frustration, I think back to this morning when I woke with my cheek against his chest. His arm was wrapped around me snugly. I breathed in his scent mixed with the fresh mountain air sneaking in through the cracks in the windowpane.
Having good chemistry in bed was one thing. But when I experienced the soft intimacy with him afterward, I’d closed my eyes and scrunched my face against him, trying to savor the moment as I wondered how today would go.
Are our clashing lifestyles a death sentence for any chance at something more? Or maybe the details don’t matter when you like someone like I like Ledger—like I think he likes me too. It’s worth pursuing, isn’t it?
Despite knowing I should tread lightly, I ask a question of my own in a moment of unflinching bravery. It comes out as more of a suggestion because I can’t stand the thought of him turning down the idea.
“So, I was thinking . . . maybe next time the weather won’t be so bad, and you can show me around a little bit.”
“Next time?”
“If I’m in the area or, you know—”
He pulls his hat down and then rests his left arm along the bottom of the driver’s side window. “Yeah. I mean, yes, definitely.”
I turn to face the front windshield with a closed-lip smile.
“I think—”
“Oh my god,” I cut him off. “Is this it?”
We’ve turned off on a dirt road. Tall trees line either side of the lane. The wooden posts on the fence line are capped with snow, the barbed wire glistens with ice crystals, and faint snowdrifts are formed at each base.
“Yeah, this is my parents’ ranch.”
“It’s beautiful!” I lean forward in my seat, bracing a hand on the door handle.
The distant peaks make a stunning background as we make our way down the drive.
There’s muffled mooing coming from outside, and I scan the pasture on either side of the lane to see visible puffs of warm breath rising from the noses of the cattle huddled together in black patches against the stark, white-blanketed ground.
A log home finally comes into view. String lights lining the pitched roof and the wraparound porch, leftover from the holidays, I assume, glow softly.
The edges of the windows are frosted over, with tiny fern-like patterns etched by the cold.
A thin column of gray smoke rises steadily from the stone chimney, curling into the crisp, pale blue sky.
Several trucks are parked past the home near a row of weathered but well-cared-for barns. I’m itching to reach into the back seat for my camera, but I decide to keep the urge at bay for now. When I see my car parked directly in front of the house, I swallow hard.
When we come to a stop next to my car, Ledger puts the truck in park and turns in his seat to face me. He opens his mouth, and I look into his deep brown eyes.
Before he has a chance to say anything, three loud raps sound against the driver’s side window. Ledger turns to roll it down, and a woman on a horse leans down and peers into the cab of the truck.
My jaw drops at the sight of her. Her dark hair is long and sleek, peppered with streaks of dignified gray. The corners of her eyes and mouth have deep wrinkles—the kind you get when you’ve made a lifelong habit of laughter.
Her thick wool coat has a muted orange pattern and a wool-lined collar. She sits atop her horse like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi, son. Got a call about 78 head, and I’ll need to be there in an hour. Give me a hand with a few pairs so I can get going?”
Ledger nods, rolls up the window, and turns off the truck. I reach into the back seat for my coat, open the passenger side door, and quickly jog to the other side.
“Your mom . . .” I gasp at Ledger’s side as we watch Gina ride away toward the nearest barn. “She’s stunning.”
He huffs a breath through his nose as he turns toward me and zips up my coat. “She is,” he agrees.
“78 head?”
Ledger starts walking in the direction of the barn, and I follow curiously.
“78 head of cattle. She’s a brand inspector.
The best one in the county, to be honest,” he explains.
“They always call her for big incoming groups like that. My dad is great with the upkeep around here, but it was my mom who taught me almost everything that I know about ranching. She was raised on this land.”
“What I’m hearing is that she’s a badass.”
“Pretty much,” he chuckles.
We enter through the open barn door, and he jogs toward a square hutch in the corner of a pen. As Gina dismounts and enters the pen, she scoops a tiny calf into her arms and carries it to the box.
Ledger picks up a heating lamp that was hanging on the nearby wall, hooks it up, and hangs it over the exposed corner. As I step beside him and peer down, I watch Gina place the shivering calf in the hutch. She gathers straw and tucks piles of it close to the calf’s body.
“She cleaned her off good,” Ledger points out.